


Tectonic Plates

by Salios



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bond doesn't listen, Bond's a lovable twat, Catrina is a little too much like M, M/M, Pompus arseholes, Q's snicker is like medicine for the idiotic, Turtles, kind of, vix_spes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1910700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salios/pseuds/Salios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently shagging Bond wasn't allowed - not that anyone had thought to warn Q before hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tectonic Plates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vix_spes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/gifts).



> For the 00Q summer assignment prompted by vix-spes.  
> \---------------  
> minimum prompt: MI6 disapproves of Bond/Q's relationship  
> \-----------  
> maximum prompt: Ever since they met, Bond and Q have established a friendship that has recently started to become more - both of them finally acting on the attraction that they have felt. This unnerves the higher-ups - they don't like the idea of their Quartermaster and best agent in a relationship in case it goes wrong. Dalliances on missions are another matter. Up to you what they try and do to separate them/how Bond and Q try to get round it. I love angst but preferably with a happy ending!!  
> \-------------  
> This didn't at all go the way I expected. I hope you enjoy!

Q sat.

That’s all he did. He didn’t twitch or bounce a leg or bite his lip. He wanted to, but didn’t. And that made this all the more uncomfortable for the table of officials here to judge him. The Quartermaster eyed them, one at a time, in no rush and for all the world looking like he didn’t give two shits about where he was or why. As if he knew what they wanted and expected but none of it mattered one little bit in the grand scheme of things

Finally one of the officials, in his stuffy looking expensive suit and overhanging brow so thick with wrinkles Q was surprised he could see under them all, broke. He coughed and adjusted his perfectly knotted tie. When Q didn’t bother to look at him he grew more flustered, neck purpling.

“Mister — “

Q shot him a look and the man faltered.

“Quartermaster. You are here because you have entered into an illicit affair that can and will lead to unrest. You are to be reprimanded and should you not mend your mistake and break ties then you are to be terminated.” _Literally._ The man, pompous and swollen like ripe fruit in his pricey suit, glared down at Q with what he wrongly assumed was an intimidating expression.

“Really.”

Several of the people on the board looked uncomfortable, glancing about and whispering to each other. The speaker purpled further and sat up. His chair squeaked in protest and he stilled, momentarily looking worried it might break under him.

“Your involvement with Agent Bond is a travesty. If it were to get out — “

“Tch.” Q grimaced and clucked his tongue. “We are the Secret Intelligence Service. Honestly, if we can’t even keep secret who we sleep with then I’m a little worried.”

The representative grew somehow more bulbous as titters broke out among his peers. Q’s phone rang and he pulled it from his belt, eyeing the screen. He looked up at the far wall then further at a projector mounted to the ceiling.

Finally answering the cell he put it to his ear. The table of officials were flatly ignored. "What is it?" He hummed and pushed a few buttons before putting it back to his ear. The projector powered on without any fiddling. "Mmmm, yes yes, have you tried shooting him?"

The panel of prissily dressed men and women exchanged glances.

"Well if that hasn't worked then try again." Q glanced back at the table and rolled his eyes, opening and closing his hand as if it were a flapping mouth. "Ugh, fine, put the tosser on."

The projector went on and in a burst of static voices came through the speakers. Quickly behind them came screaming and the dull _pop pop_ of gunfire.

"Bond." Q sounded _bored_.

"Oh for the love of Monroe's sugared tits — what?!"

The panel jumped.

The Quartermaster merely rolled his eyes. "Take a left. Unless, of course, you'd rather have more holes in your face that is strictly advised."

Bond swore and there was the sound of running and sliding, the _ping_ of a ricocheting bullet or six, and colourful swearing. The projector finished loading and a map appeared, along with the cheerily blinking green dot labelled '7'.

"I told that little tart that I don't need her nattering on about the safest path. For fucks' sakes!" Bond swore and there was a pained gasp. "But _no_ ," he drew the word out until it was whiny and petulant, "She bloody well chickened out when the original plan failed — as bloody well predicted."

Given that Bond was currently running at top speed, dodging bullets and mercenaries, and swearing a blue streak — all within a very humid climate — Q thought the panel should have been impressed. He glanced back to find them staring at the screen in distaste. With a soft sigh Q looked back at the screen.

"James."

The swearing stopped abruptly.

"...Yes?" Bond sounded a mite bit worried.

"Shut up and take another left."

A grunt and the dot shifted to obey Q's order.

"Three on your right, just duck under the market tents don't bother trying to shoot them. Sharp right. Stop. Go back. Your other right. Oh, grab that book on the table, I've been looking for a new journal."

"What is the meaning of this?!" The investigator stood, buttons straining across his stomach.

Q glanced up from his phone, fingers flying. A tablet had appeared in his other hand and was showing a live stream from several angles. "My job. Now, if you wouldn't mind." The brunet turned back to the tablet.

"Q? What was that?" Bond swore softly and there was the crack of snapped bone.

"Just the investigator." Really he was too busy to deal with tripe like this. Who he buggered had no negative impact on his work. If anything it meant the more undisciplined agents had another reason to do as told. Great sex and his own guard dog. Perfect.

"Why the bloody hell do you have an investigator there?" Bond was only slightly out of breath, that just wasn't fair.

"Because apparently who I shag is up to a panel of people who don't look like they've had a night out without paying for it in years." There were several protests but again Q ignored them.

"....You're being court martialed because of my cock?" The blond sounded amused and incredulous, if a bit tinny over the distance.

Q barked a laugh. "Two rights and up the stairs, evac is waiting on the roof. And yes, James, I'm being penalised because of your cock. Now be a good little shit and bring me my data."

"Mm, yes sir."

The live map cut off, turning to a live stream of Bond climbing into the helicopter. Q opened up a template, already filling out the form for what he had done during he and Bond's brief involvement during this run. He looked back up at the table.

"I'm sorry, do continue."

The purpling man was interrupted by a prim, greying woman who smiled at Q over her spectacles. "No need, Quartermaster. You've proven your skills."

"What?!" The original investigator sat up and glared. "He disregarded protocol and —"

"And did the job we pay him for spectacularly. Shut up Reginald." The woman primly removed her glasses and set them on the table. “Agent?”

Q hadn’t cut the connection between he and Bond, listening and watching absently, just in case. Bond looked up from where he was seated in the helicopter, eyeing the camera. “Yes?” He was dirty and looked very much like an tired, grumpy, mangy cat that was more interested in finding a sunbeam to lay in than playing nice with a disembodied voice.

“My name is Catrina Poole, I’m on the council responsible for agents of MI6 who have breached protocol.”

Bond frowned, shoulders tensing. He swatted at a medtech trying to get to his bleeding side. The man scrambled away and Bond shifted his attention back to the camera. “And this is important to me how?”

“Because, Mr. Bond, your Quartermaster and lover is to be reprimanded and terminated succinctly for his breach of protocol concerning you.”

Reginald huffed from his seat, snarling a quiet, “Bloody poofs, making a fool of the SIS.”

Bond’s face fell blank and his shoulders eased.

Q looked up from his tablet, frowning. “Bond? What’s wrong? Are you being followed?”

The panel expected the agent to snap at Q if he didn’t simply brush the man off. Bond was known for his inability to follow orders unless they were direct and from the highest tier of MI6. He was a loaner and did well as one. His ability to think on his feet and _survive_ were what kept him an invaluable asset to MI6, age aside. He wasn’t easy to work with.

But instead the blond answered Q. “No, I’m fine. Though I can’t say the same for him.”

The brunet frowned, “Him? Him who?”

“The pompous arse who seems to be jealous of you.”

“Eh?!” Q blinked, staring from Bond to the panel and back. “What the bloody hell — “

“How _dare_ you!” Reginald roared. He slammed a meaty fist on the table, making his neighbours jump. A button popped from his shirt front and hit Q’s tablet, making him swear and flick his hand away.

“Q?” Bond’s tone was worried.

“M’fine,” Q muttered.

“Reginald, _sit down._ ” Catrina hissed.

“No! I refuse to let this, this _filth_ humiliate this organization!” He was spitting, rubbery lips flapping and forehead shining as sweat beaded up.

“Q?”

“Yes love?” The brunet murmured his response, eyes still on Reginald.

“When do you think the last time he got properly shagged was?”

Q barked a laugh and covered his mouth, embarrassed. The entire panel turned to stare at Bond, now wearing a smirk and reclining in the uncomfortable looking flight chair as though he were on display. The blond even undid a few buttons of his shirt.

“What? Is that an odd question? I can’t see him but judging by that voice I’d bet at least six months, probably more.”

The Quartermaster was doing his damndest to maintain his sobriety — and failing.

Catrina was grinning as well. She turned to Reginald, eyes wide. “Yes, Reginald, when did you last let off some steam? I don’t think a single person here would begrudge you a holiday.”

Sputtering still and unable to find a reply the investigator stood. His chair fell over, knocking him in the knees, and the man stumbled. He went down, falling backwards off the raised dais and to the floor where he lay swearing.

Q tilted his head to look under the table. “Looks a bit like a turtle on its back, yeah?”

Catrina tittered and turned from her struggling fellow panel member back to Q. Smiling sweetly shooed him along. " You aren’t wrong. Now, be sure to have that report done by day's end. And Bond?"

“Yes…?” He sounded a bit worried.

“Do take care of our Quartermaster, he’s worth a thousand of you just by how cute he is.” She winked at Q and the brunet turned, walking to the doors, a Cheshire grin on his face..

Bond smirked, "Yes mum."

 


End file.
